


Surfacing

by Thistlerose



Series: On the Blind Side of the Heart [8]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Behind the Scenes, F/M, POV First Person, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in 2003.  When Marie Maia Barton-Khushrenada declares war upon the Earth and Space Colonies, the colonists seek to re-arm themselves. With the Gundam pilots away, can one civilian make a difference?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I didn't find out exactly what happened on the Earth until much later. News still reaches the Colonies slowly and sometimes I think L2-X34 is even more backward and backwater than most. Why Duo chose it for our base of operations I don't know. I distinctly remember clipping articles for him about the blockheaded things the leaders of this colony have done. The rent is cheap, he argued. That was certainly true, and we got the garage, and there was that grove of trees nearby where we could hide Deathscythe. So, maybe there's the answer right there.

     The morning after Duo left to meet up with Quatre so they could send the Gundams into the sun, I vowed that I'd make him proud of me, as long as it didn't compromise my ability to make _myself_ proud of me. Then I poured myself a cup of orange juice and toasted myself a bagel, put on some of what Duo calls my Angry Woman Music, and did the thing I'd been longing to do since we moved in together. 

      I cleaned the house. 

      I am _not_ a neatnik, or rather, I didn't use to be. But living with Duo changed me in many ways, and that was one. I'm not meticulous, but I like things to have some semblance of order. He, on the other hand... 

     I tore through the house like a miniature tornado, sweeping old newspapers, dirty laundry, and small tools (I found a screwdriver and a wrench in the fridge--WHY?) into my arms and carrying them all to the kitchen table, where I dumped them and began to sort through them. 

     It was freezing, and I didn't feel like trotting out to the garage--I was still in my boxers, anyway--so I put the tools in an empty coffee tin that was just sitting around and placed them on a shelf over the sink. I bundled the newspapers and tied them up with string, then set them on the floor by the front door. I'd bike them over to the recycling center later. 

     Then I started on the clothes. 

     They were all his and they were mostly socks. Duo owns one pair of faded blue jeans, those jodhpurs, and a pair of black leather pants that he saw at a vintage store one day a few months ago and decided he _had_ to have. (I'd laughed, but he thought he'd look hot in them and after he tried them on I was inclined to agree.) He'd taken the leather pants and the jodhpurs with him for some reason, but he'd left the jeans. Probably he meant to take them and simply forgot in his hurry to leave. They were the most normal article of clothing he owned. 

     I ran my hand over them. They were cold from having lain on the floor, and soft from much wear. The knees and seat were almost threadbare. I'd spent many a fine afternoon working in the garage, stealing over-the-shoulder glances at his fine denim-clad butt while he bent over Deathscythe. I gathered the jeans into my arms, hugged them to my chest, and buried my nose in them. 

     They reeked. 

     I quickly deposited them--and the socks, boxers, and t-shirts--in the laundry basket and swallowed the lump in my throat. 

     I was being such a sentimental twit, and it made me angry. 

     He told me he was leaving before we slept together. _I_ seduced _him_. And he swore up and down that he'd be back. He even left his crucifix as proof. (It still lay on the night table; I couldn't make myself touch it.) Moreover, he'd only been gone a few hours. And it wasn't as though it was my first one-night stand. Actually, it was my second. 

      _Actually_ , I think my angst had less to do with his leaving than with his making me promise that I wouldn't get involved if any more fighting broke out. 

     He wanted me to be safe. I was his rock, he said. 

     Still, it wasn't fair. I know that sounds very whiney of me, but goddamit, I was a _soldier_. I was trained to fight. Being told to stay put, like I was some damsel in distress or some kid...well, it really smarted. 

     If it were anyone but Duo I'd never have made that promise. And I would certainly not have implied that I would wait for him to come back to me. Being in love sucks sometimes. 

     As I cleaned I made up possible scenarios. Zechs Merquise returned from the dead and engaged the Gundam pilots in deadly combat. Of course, the Gundams would be halfway to the sun by then, so Duo would have to call in the cavalry: “Yo, Hil, get your sweet, sexy ass out here and help us! Oh, and incidentally, I love you, too.” Or he'd call and say, “Everything went swimmingly! The Gundams are ancient history. Don't feel like going back to November on L2-X34 just yet. Howard told me about this little Caribbean island. White sand beaches, flamingo sunsets. Why don't you swing by? I'll keep the pina coladas cold. Oh, and incidentally, I love you, too.” Or even, “Just met up with Quatre. Did some thinking on the flight and I realize I was wrong, before. Given the fact that you've saved my ass twice already, if anything happens you're the first person I'll call for help. Oh, and incidentally, I love you, too.” 

      _Stop it, Hilde_ , I admonished, after catching myself gazing forlornly at the com unit for the third time since getting up. _And grow up, while you're at it_.  
  
  


     He did call when he met up with Quatre, two days later. Of course I was out of the house then, trying to organize the garage, so I didn't find out he'd called until later. When I came into the house, filthy and shivering, and saw the com light blinking the first thing I thought was, “Now, why didn't somebody shout out the window to me?” The answer hit me like an elbow in the gut. 

     Oh, yeah. Right. 

     Duo's message was brief and typical: “Made it safe and sound. Figured you'd worry. Quatre says ‘hi.' He blushed when I mentioned your name. Guess he remembers you planted one on him last New Year's. So, you can make a guy blush at twelve parsecs. Or wherever the hell we are now... Ehh...about the other night...” 

     Yesyes?? 

     “...Don't forget what I said. Stay out of trouble. You're my rock. Over and out.” 

     Elbow in the gut, knife between the ribs. I was getting the shit beaten out of me and I was most profoundly alone! 

      _Well, that's what happens when you let your guard down_ , I thought as I deleted the message, then went to soak myself under hot running water. 

     Thing was, even if I _did_ remember my plate mail when dealing with Duo, he'd find the chink without even trying. That's just how he is. And that was when I finally started to cry, standing there in the shower, with suds running down my bare legs and water sloshing around my feet. And those tears, unlike my anger, had nothing to do with being left behind. They had everything to do with wanting him and missing him and wishing he was with me--yes, in the shower--and this terrible, terrible feeling that I'd never see him again. 

     Don't ask me where that fear came from. I still don't know and I've looked back so many times. I just knew, in my soul, I guess, that something bad was going to happen. It wasn't over. Duo was in danger, and because of a promise I'd made to calm his own fear, there was nothing I could do to save him. I've never felt so helpless.  
  
  


     I didn't hear from him again for two weeks. During that time I buried myself in my work (I kept the garage open and I sat in on Council sessions and occasionally voiced my opinion) and tried to make the best of being alone. I didn't have very many friends on the colony; I was always a little nervous about how people would react if they found out I used to be with OZ, even though I'm from the Colonies originally. Duo didn't have very many friends, either. None his age, anyway. That fact has always surprised me because he's pretty gregarious, but it makes sense if you really think about it. He's told me half a dozen times that he's only alive because of luck and that he continues to fight so others don't have to. He really does think that, and it's kept him isolated from people his age. He's such a warm, friendly person, but he's afraid of losing anyone he becomes close to, the way he lost Father Maxwell and Sister Helen when he was eight. I think that's the reason he's so fascinated with the other pilots. They're a lot like him in that respect. 

     Anyway, since I did not have very many friends on the colony, when I wasn't working I was trying to find ways of filling up the remaining hours. I taught myself card tricks and new recipes (I had a lot more money to spend on food, since I wasn't buying for him, and he eats enough for two). I spent a few afternoons hunting around for a saxophone instructor, since I played when I was little and I thought it might be nice to take it up again. I watched the news a lot, hoping there'd be some mention of Duo and the other pilots, but there never was. I guess that was good, since Duo mentioned before he left that Quatre had wanted this last mission to be as covert as possible. A lot of times I fell asleep under my blanket in front of the television. I woke up once or twice to the sound of someone shrieking. On those occasions I'd sit bolt upright, heart hammering, completely disoriented, but ready to fight. Then I'd remember my promise to Duo. Then I'd realize that the shrieking came from the B-list movie actress in the late night horror flick that was on. Then I'd feel really stupid, turn off the television, and stretch out on the sofa, too lazy or too frightened to go to bed. 

     It was on one of those nights that Duo finally called. I'd just gotten back to sleep, so for a moment I thought that what I was hearing was part of my dream. Then I heard Duo's voice, and I sprang up because dreaming or not, I wanted to pay attention. 

     “Hilde?” He sounded really tired. “Hope the fact that you haven't picked up after seven rings means you're out partying or sleeping with your earplugs. Actually, I guess you could be at work. I have no idea what time it is on L2-X34. This time difference thing is screwing with my head.” 

     I crouched by the com, holding my blanket loosely around my shoulders, wanting to answer, but shy, and troubled by the weariness in his tone. 

     “Anyway,” he said, after a long pause and a deep sigh, “I was kinda hoping I'd get to talk to you. I miss you, girl. But, since you're not there or sleeping, just wanted to let you know everything's okay. The Gundams are on their way to the sun. It'll take them a while to reach there, which is... Actually, I dunno how I feel about that. I don't _miss_ Deathscythe. I told you I hated it and I do. I just feel sort of...” 

     I couldn't just sit there listening when he sounded like that. “Duo, I'm right here,” I said, leaning close over the com. My voice sounded gravelly and harsh from my being asleep. 

     “H-Hil! Hey! Did I wake you up?” 

     “Kind of. It's okay, though. It's about three in the morning here, since you were wondering.” 

     “Ehh...sorry.” 

     “Don't be sorry.” I picked up the machine, sat down cross-legged on the floor, and held it in my lap while we talked. It was warm, and it wasn't long before I was running my fingers along its smooth surface as though it were his skin because I really am that much of a sentimental twit sometimes. “Where are you?” I asked. If he said he was at the station waiting to be picked up--despite the fact that the station was shut down for the night except for emergency comings and goings--nothing would have prevented me from squealing for joy and letting him know exactly what kind of sentimental twit he was coming home to. 

     “Actually, I'm with Heero, strangely enough. Um, everything went fine with the Gundams, like I said before. Quatre was where he said he'd be, and Trowa and Heero brought theirs. Wufei didn't, but you know, it's his darling Nataku. I don't--nah, I don't _want_ to know what he does with that suit when the rest of us aren't looking. Trowa's looking pretty diesel. Either he spent the _entire_ year working out or his sister's been putting something in whatever she's been feeding him. Quatre looked like he was having heart palpitations. He's so obvious--to me, anyway--it's kind of funny.” 

     I knew Quatre had a crush on Trowa Barton a year ago (my God, who could blame him?) so it was kind of nice to hear that he still felt that way about his friend. Quatre and I spent a few days in the hospital on MO-II after the Earth's surrender and Duo played a game of tag with hospital security and Quatre's Maguanacs, sneaking Trowa in to see his friend whenever he could. I liked listening to Duo talk about them, then as now, because he sounded so...complete. These were his people, the ones who helped him feel like a normal human being in a way that even I couldn't. 

     But then he said, “Anyway, Heero looked like crap. Not that he usually looks like the kind of guy you'd bring home to meet your folks. He looked pretty bad, though. So I thought--” 

     He broke off abruptly as someone whose words I could not distinguish began to talk. 

     “Yes, I'm talking about you,” Duo said dryly. “I said ‘Heero', didn't I? Sorry, the Death Glare has no effect whatsoever on Death himself. Goodbye to you, too.” He chuckled and said, “He always knows when I'm talking about him behind his back. He's uncanny. He says hi, by the way.” 

     “No, I didn't,” Heero said and I almost laughed. I could just picture Duo's expression. 

     “Well, he _means_ hi,” Duo whispered. “Now you see what I subject myself to? I'm saintly. He doesn't talk except to snarl, he doesn't hang out. I tried to take him to a pub the other day. This cute--but obviously mental--girl asked him to dance and he just growled and gave her his patented Vulture Look. He doesn't know it, but I got a Monopoly set the other day. The little metal pieces are shaped like mobile suits; it's pretty cool. And you can own properties like L2 and all. I must have a death wish, but I'm going to try to teach him to play. I think I'm going to buy him a pair of jeans, too. I think he's depressed.” 

     How can you tell? I wanted to ask, but I didn't dare. It was pretty clear from his tone that Duo felt he had to stay with Heero. Heero meant a lot to him; he looked up to him, even idolized him, almost. 

     “So,” he said after a slightly awkward pause, “how are things on L2-X34? You holding up okay?” 

     “I'm fine,” I told him, trying to sound nonchalant. “There was a debate three days ago about waste disposal.” 

     “Sounds fascinating.” 

     “Oh, you have no idea how much fun you missed. Neither do I, since I fell asleep.” 

     He laughed. “That's my Hilde, always on the alert.” 

     “Hey,” I said, “if it had been Billy Archer talking, I might have been alert. He's hot.” 

     Another awkward silence. Then, “Hil, about that night...” 

     “Don't worry about it,” I said quickly, squeezing my eyes shut and ordering my heart to quit pounding. “It was great. Better than. I have no complaints at all.” The morning after, now... “We'll talk when you get home.” 

     “I might not be home for a while.” 

     “It's okay,” I whispered. “Heero needs you right now. I understand. You can't just leave your friend.” I rubbed at my eyes with the back of my hand. Stupid emotions. 

     “Thank you, Hilde. Incidentally, I...” 

     Yesyes? 

     “...I left my only pair of jeans back at the house. How dumb is that?” 

     I didn't say anything. 

     “You don't have to send them or anything, since we'll be moving around a lot I think. I guess...I'll see you? Soon?” 

     “Soon,” I echoed, feeling hollow. 

     “Don't forget that promise you made me.” 

     “I haven't.” 

     “Well... Bye.” 

     And that was it.  
  
  
He called two more times, both when I was out of the house. (I guess he was moving around quite a lot because the first thing he always said was, “I have no idea what time it is where you are...”) The first time I hung onto every word he said. The second time I listened from the kitchen while I put away groceries. I wasn't trying to shut him out of my heart; I just couldn't afford to let him get to me. I've never been a weepy, wimpy girl, and I didn't intend to become one over Duo. So, when he didn't call a third time part of me was bitterly disappointed, but part of me was a little relieved. 

     Which was not to say I didn't miss him. I did--terribly. On a very base level, my body craved his, which is kind of funny, since I've never been a very sensual person. But suddenly everything turned me on, and I knew it was because of him. I'd be eating ice cream in the kitchen and some of it would drip onto my fingers and I'd start licking them clean and all of a sudden I'd feel all tingly and hot and flushed. Once I went out and bought a lacy black bra and panties, something I'd never even _thought_ about owning in the past. But suddenly all my blue cotton seemed so juvenile. A couple of times when I was watching a romantic movie at home (don't ask me why, I don't like romantic movies) I started thinking about Duo. I tried not to, but he was there in my head, doing all the things the actor in the movie was doing--but much, much better. After a little while I gave up the struggle, turned off the light, turned up the movie's volume, lay down on the sofa, slipped my hand into my pants, and tried to find the spot Duo touched that night. I never did. 

     Being in love really sucks sometimes. 

     Anyway, November became December. It got colder, but not _too_ much colder, because while L2-X34 was designed to resemble North America, there were some elements of the original that the colonists decided they could do without. It snowed twice. 

     I got a cat. Or the cat got me. Either way, by the second week of December there was another male in my life, although it was not the species I'd been hoping for. I'm not really a cat person. I like dogs. But cinder-colored Loki showed up in the garage one day, looking cute and slightly demonic. I tossed him a piece of my tuna sandwich because I didn't want all of it and he looked cold and hungry. He wolfed it down and walked away and I thought that was that. But when I went back to the house an hour and a half later, he was waiting for me on the front step. And when I opened the door he padded right in, so I guess that was where he lived. 

     I started going into the city center more frequently. Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanzaa decorations were up, and I liked walking around the shops and the parks. The holidays still made me feel like a kid, even though I was almost seventeen. I had two dates with Billy Archer. Well, okay, they weren't dates since we met with the intention of discussing politics and that's what we _did_ , and he's ten years older than I am, but...we didn't have to meet at that coffee shop, and he didn't have to pay for my white hot chocolate, we didn't have to walk along the reservoir afterward. 

     Actually, it was not at all romantic. I was concerned about the Council's thoughts about Duo--they had wanted him to turn Deathscythe over to them rather than destroy it--and I was trying to trick the information out of Billy, since it was confidential stuff. What I gleaned was that Duo was not in trouble since the Colonies had disavowed the Gundams and their pilots halfway through the war and so Deathscythe really belonged to Duo, but they weren't pleased with his decision. I figured he'd get away with it as a hero of the Eve War, but I'd wanted to hear it from a councilman's mouth. 

     Howard Katz showed up kind of unexpectedly three days before Christmas. He was looking for Duo. He didn't seem too put out when I told him Duo was not back yet, but then, I don't think Howard _gets_ put out. He said he'd wait, even though I didn't know when (if) Duo would be back, so I helped him find a cheap motel near the city center. He came over for dinner on Christmas, which was nice since I didn't have anyone else to celebrate with and I missed cooking for people and wanted to try my new recipes on someone. We sat in the den talking and eating and listening to Duo's jazz records while Loki flirted shamelessly with both of us. 

     “He's a good kid, Duo,” Howard said, leaning back against the sofa cushions and sipping his eggnog. “I met him when he first came to Earth a year and a half ago, but I already knew him by reputation. The guy I used to work with, who designed Deathscythe, met Duo when he was twelve, when he was caught raiding a Sweeper ship.” 

     I hadn't known that. Duo told me some things about his past, like the Maxwell Church Tragedy, but not much about the years that followed, which I think he spent wandering from colony to colony. I felt a twinge of loneliness and leaned down to scratch Loki's jaw. He rumbled happily and butted his hand against my cupped hand. 

     “You know,” Howard went on, staring at the night-filled window (thanks to the L2-X34 Weather Department we were having a white Christmas), “Dr. G and I thought about giving Peacemillion to Duo originally. It was a powerful ship, but it was designed for space exploration. It could've gone beyond the Solar System. We were going to wait until Duo was old enough, then let him play with it. He'd have made a good space explorer. Still might, if anyone resurrects that department. Peacemillion was needed, though, to counter Earth and Libra. Well, so it goes. I worked on Libra, too.” 

     “I guess Duo told you I was the one who gave the Gundam pilots the data on Libra.” 

     “Sure did. That kid likes to talk and there wasn't much else for him to do while he was waiting for you in that hospital. Guess he forgot I helped design it.” He gave me a wink, and I grinned and felt better. “Anyway, I have a proposition for him, if he's interested, whenever he gets back. You too.” 

     I didn't ask him what he had in mind, and he didn't say. We just talked some more, about Duo and the past, and about what was happening on Earth. I think we were afraid to talk about the future. I don't know why, but that night, whenever I started to think about it, I found myself looking at the window and the windy darkness outside. I wondered where Duo was, how he was celebrating, if he was. And then I felt cold and afraid. 

     Was I psychic? I doubt it. But the next day, everything went crazy.  
  
  
It was mid-afternoon and I was coming out of my sax teacher's apartment (I'd found someone whose rates were good who could give me forty minute lessons twice a week) when I started to get the feeling that something wasn't right. It was the day after Christmas and most of the stores were having sales, but the streets were practically empty. The few people I did see seemed to be in an awful hurry to get wherever they were going, which wasn't the stores. Some were heading in the direction of City Hall, so I got on my bike and followed them. 

     There was a huge crowd outside City Hall. It was pretty obvious what they were all looking at. On the big screen on the broadcasting headquarters opposite City Hall, a little red-haired girl in a funny, plumed hat, was talking. 

     “...wish to assert our independence from the Earth Sphere Unified Nation and at the same time declare war against the Nation. My name is Marie Maia Khushrenada, the daughter of Treize Khushrenada.” 

     I gripped my bike's handlebars and almost fell over. The people were muttering to one another, but the girl's voice rang out over their drone: 

     “I'm carrying out my father's will. It's in human nature to fight...” 

     She kept talking, but the ringing in my ears prevented me from hearing what she said. You know, despite that, and despite the sudden sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, it took me five full minutes to convince my brain that I wasn't watching a movie. 

     I think the people around me had similar reactions. Very dimly I heard exclamations of disbelief and snorts of derision. She couldn't be serious. What kind of joke was this? 

     Who would _dare_ joke about this? I thought, wanted to yell. She's serious. The question was, whose puppet was she--and what kind of force did she have behind her? 

     Treize's daughter! Could that be for real? And if it was, how in hell did _that_ happen? Half the people I served with were in love with the guy--man and woman, straight and gay alike--and no one said one damn word about a kid. Had Colonel Une known? Had _Treize_ even known? 

     The motorcycle's roar scattered my ponderings. 

     “Hilde Schbeiker!” 

     It was Councilman Billy Archer. People leaped aside as he rumbled down the street and screeched to a halt beside my bike. His hair was a windblown raven tangle, his sandstone-colored brow beaded with sweat despite the cold. He wore his trademark black leather jacket over a dirty tank top, so I figured he'd been summoned from the gym. 

     “This is serious shit, Schbeiker,” he said, not mincing words and reminding me why he was the only member of the L2-X34 governing body that I actually liked. “Get on. Come on, ditch the bike, you'll find it later. If there is a later. Council's convening and we want you there.” 

     “But why me?” I asked as I climbed on behind him, holding my sax between us. Stupid question--I could guess the answer pretty easily. 

     “Here's the situation, Schbeiker,” he said as I trotted after his long-legged strides, down City Hall's marble-floored hallway. “We don't know if she's real or not, but her threat seems to be. Right before she started broadcasting she sent us--and I'm assuming all the other colonial leaders--a statement of her intentions including an appraisal of her military strength. If she's not exaggerating, we're all in trouble. Even if she is...we're either with her or against her according to her statement. Against Earth.” 

     “But why?” 

     He didn't answer. We bypassed the main council chamber and went to a smaller meeting room, where the other eight councilors were already assembled. Their heads were bent together and their chatter sounded only slightly less chaotic than the chatter I'd heard outside. 

     “If you want to know where Duo is, I can't tell you,” I announced after the door closed and was locked behind us. “Even if I knew, I wouldn't. You can't get Deathscythe.” 

     “Ms. Schbeiker,” Councilman Derecha said sternly, without looking up from his notes, “you are out of order.” 

     Derecha liked order, and he didn't particularly like me, and usually I made an effort to act with some decorum or stay out of his way, but at that moment I didn't care. “I'm guessing you want me here because I was with OZ for part of the war. I have no idea if Marie Maia Khushrenada is really Treize's daughter. I never heard of her before today. Councilman Archer told me about her ultimatum, though. What are you going to do?” 

     Billy Archer came up behind me, touched my elbow. “Hilde, you're way out of line,” he muttered. 

     “Ms. Schbeiker, kindly sit and wait until your opinion is asked for,” Councilman Derecha said, indicating a chair at the far end of the long table at which he and the others sat. 

     “But there isn't time,” I complained. 

     “No, there isn't,” Derecha said with a flash of impatience. “But that does not mean we should abandon order or protocol. Now sit while I finish my statement to the people, or you will be escorted off these premises until the need for you arises.” 

     I sat. 

     He worked quickly--I'll give him that. I could tell that he was worried, from the sheen of sweat on his brow and the way he kept kneading his earlobe (a weird habit Duo and I liked to make fun of when we sat in on Council sessions). He'd been part of the colonial government during the war, so he knew how to act in times of crisis. But this was so unexpected. 

     Finally he put down his pen, gathered his notes, and rose. The other councilors rose with him. So did I, after a second. 

     “I'm going to address the people before too many rumors take flight,” said Derecha. He shuffled his papers, touched his earlobe again. “All right, let's do this.” 

     Four of the other councilors followed him out of the room. “You can't have Deathscythe,” I said stubbornly to the remaining four (one of whom was Archer). It was all I could think to say, all I could think of. The day before Duo left the Council asked him to turn Deathscythe over to them, practically ordered him, although the Gundam was his and they knew it. Facing them now, I remembered the look on his face, the way he held his body as though he were in pain when we walked home together afterward. It had taken a long time for him to feel ready to give up his armor, the thing that let him protect the people he cared about. What they asked of him--demanded, practically--was cruel. He couldn't _give_ Deathscythe to anyone else, and for his own peace he couldn't keep it, either. 

     As I stood before the four councilors I imagined Duo behind me, his shoulders hunched the way they were that day, his face pale and pinched as though he were much, much older than sixteen. I held up my arms as though to protect him. I was ready to spit and hiss, tear and claw, use my sax as a weapon if I had to. 

     But they didn't want Deathscythe. Or rather, they understood that it was beyond their reach. They weren't happy about that, but they accepted it. What they wanted was any information I had about Marie Maia Khushrenada--which I gave them--and the mobile suit parts and other scraps that I still had in the garage--which was another thing entirely. 

     “No,” I said. 

     “Hilde...” Councilman Archer's whisper sounded pained. 

     “I won't,” I said, turning from one councilor to the next. 

     “I don't think you understand the severity of the situation, Officer Schbeiker,” Derecha said. He'd come back looking very weary. I felt badly for him--he wanted this over as much as I did--but I wasn't going to give. 

     Nevertheless, I felt a little faint when Councilwoman Sheridan said, “We've received intelligence from an undercover Earth-based group called the Preventers, of which Therese Une is the head. Marie Maia Khushrenada's threat is very real. We could be on the brink of another war. However, Earth and the colonies that stand against her are at a severe disadvantage because of the disarmament. Moreover, Vice Foreign Minister Darlian is missing. It is believed--and you are not to repeat this to _anyone_ \--that she is being held by Marie Maia Khushrenada on L3-X189999. We need all the help we can get. It was for this very reason that we asked that the Deathscythe Gundam be turned over to us.” 

     “But I don't have anything that would be truly effective against an army. If Marie Maia's forces got through the Earth's defenses--negligible as they are right now--and came here, you couldn't hold her off with what I've got. An armed resistance on the part of the colonists would only lead to senseless death.” The _unless_ caught in my throat and for a moment I couldn't speak. 

     “It is in human nature to fight,” Councilwoman Johnston said softly into the silence. 

     Didn't I know it! I looked down at my hand, clenched around the handle of my saxophone case, and hated what I felt. Powerless. Helpless. Like a twig trying to hold back a flood. God, I wanted to lash out at someone, anyone. Marie Maia Khushrenada for bringing this on us again. Derecha and the others for asking this of me. Duo for making me promise. Myself. 

     So don't ask me where this came from. Maybe I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure--it sounded like me, anyway--that I said, “There are other ways of fighting.” 

     Did I say that? Who else could it have been? Anyway, the next thing I knew I was out in the hall, making a break for the exit, but there were guards there to stop me. 

     “Just let her go,” Councilman Archer said, and the guards moved aside. “Hilde,” he called after me, “the people might not see things your way.” 

     I didn't turn. “If they don't, you'll protect me from them, right?” 

     He didn't answer. 

     “It's your duty, dammit!” And then I walked out of the building.  
  
  
The _unless_ that I'd left unsaid jangled in my head as I pedaled home as quickly as I could, skidding over icy patches of ground, almost crashing into fences and streetlamps, not caring. It went like this: An armed resistance on the part of the colonists would only lead to senseless death _unless_ they actually sided with Marie Maia. Earth was weak militarily due to the disarmament. If it fell to Marie Maia, or appeared to be losing its fight against her, what would the Colonies do? Everyone I knew wanted peace, and there wasn't much talk of revenge against the Earth these days, but what if it came to a choice between peace under Marie Maia's rule (and siding against the Earth) or fighting what could well be a losing battle in the Earth's defense? 

     The colonists were _not_ cowards, I reminded myself as I hurried past the reservoir. The original Heero Yuy had been a very brave man, according to what I'd read. Moreover, the colonists had built the Gundams after all, and spawned their pilots. And I guess it took some guts to move out to the Colonies, far away from the Earth's natural resources. Still... 

     I almost tumbled headlong off my bike in my haste to get inside the house and call Howard. I wasn't really sure what we'd be able to accomplish together, but I didn't want to have to think through this mess alone. 

     “Be there in a jiffy,” he said. “Hold the fort.” 

     Like there was anything else I _could_ do. 

     I went into the garage and took inventory. Duo and I kept pretty good records of the stuff we came by--well, I did anyway--but I wanted to _see_ what was really there. 

     It was cold in there, and damp. The sweat I'd worked up during my mad dash back to the house had dried and pretty soon I was shivering despite my warm jacket. It wasn't just the cold that gave me goose bumps. Suddenly everything I looked at was a potential weapon--and not the kind you use to defeat your enemies. The kind you use when you have nothing else and you're desperate; the kind that gets you killed. 

      _There are other ways of fighting_. 

     I wasn't even sure what I'd meant by that! 

     I closed and locked the garage, then I ran back into the house. I plopped down on my bed, drew my knees up to my chest, and hugged myself. 

      _Okay, soldier_ , I thought, _what do you do, now? You're pretty much on your own, your world is on the brink of war, and your government seems to have misplaced its common sense. Who knows about the population as a whole. What do you do?_


	2. Chapter 2

      _If anything happens_ , Duo had said, _I mean if more fighting breaks out for some reason, promise me you'll stay out of it. Promise me you'll stay HERE. You're my rock, Hilde. Promise me._

     I did promise, but did that mean I was supposed to just sit around while the thing I had fought for fell apart? But what else was I supposed to do? I _ached_ to strap on a mobile suit and fly out there to confront Marie Maia myself. That was what I had been trained to do. My hand clenched and unclenched spasmodically. At the same time I thought about Duo, and the weariness I'd sensed in him after he took Deathscythe to Quatre. That weariness came from _being_ a Gundam pilot, not giving it up. He had to stop sometime and so did I. 

     I got off the bed, went to my dresser and rummaged through a drawer until I found Duo's crucifix. I hadn't looked at it since the day he'd left. I fastened the chain around my neck and dropped the crucifix down the front of my shirt. It was cold against my skin, but then, I hadn't really expected it to start radiating power. Still, I felt a charge, not from the crucifix but from someplace inside _me_. I was juiced, as we'ds said when I was in training. I was raring to go. 

     By the time Howard arrived fifteen minutes later, I'd rounded up the things I needed and was in the midst of setting up shop. 

     “Hello, the house,” Howard called as he walked up the drive, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. 

     “Hello,” I called from my perch on the garage's roof. 

     “Yo.” Howard tilted his head back, shaded his eyes with his hand. “What are you doing?” 

     “Stringing lights.” I held up a strand. 

     “Christmas was yesterday, I thought. And what's all this stuff?” He pointed at the carton of supplies--flashlights, more Christmas lights, a strobe light--Duo's purchase--paints, bed sheets, the portable stereo, CDs, extra batteries, and my sax. 

     “Hang on.” I clambered down the side of the garage (there's a gnarly, stunted pear tree that grows against the side of the garage that makes shimmying a breeze). When I was on the ground again I explained my plan. 

     “You think it'll work?” He sounded skeptical. 

     “It depends,” I said with a shrug, and grabbed another handful of Christmas lights. “On who's right--me or the Council.” 

     “I hope you're right, Hil,” he said, picking up a string of lights that was dragging on the ground and handing it to me. “God, I hope you're right. But I really don't know if this is the ticket.” 

     “Frankly, neither do I,” I said. “But, honestly, I couldn't think of anything else.”   
  
  
The sun went down and it got a lot colder. Howard--who was still wearing his sunglasses because of all the lights I'd set up around the house and garage--made coffee and brought a thermos and two large mugs out to where we'd set up camp in front of the garage. Loki followed him. 

     “Black,” Howard said, flashing me a smile. “None of that lame decaf.” 

     I took a mug and let him pour, while Loki put his paws on my knee and demanded attention. I brought the mug up to my cold, chapped lips and inhaled deeply. “Smells great. I'm freezing _and_ falling asleep. This is just what I need.” 

     He sank down beside me, cross-legged, on the picnic blanket. “I'll make some more as soon as this is gone.” 

     “We'll be peeing all night,” I couldn't help laughing. 

     “Yeah, well. That'll keep us awake, too.” 

     “Do you think anyone will actually come?” I wondered. 

     “This party'll be for nothing if they don't.” 

     “Yeah, but...” We lapsed into silence. I looked up at the sky. Because of all the lights I couldn't see the stars. I wondered, if I shut off the electricity, would I be able to see little starbursts against the black sky, starbursts that were really mobile suits exploding in space? Had the battle between Earth and Marie Maia's forces begun already? Where was Relena Darlian? I'd witnessed her handle some tough situations--Hell, the first time I met her was when I was infiltrating the Libra where she was held prisoner--but so many people looked to her as a guiding light--even more so than President Brussels--so what would they do without her? And where, in all of this, were the Gundam pilots? I hoped that they were staying out of the conflict, but I couldn't imagine them doing so. What could they do without their Gundams? They were all so strong, but what could they do against Marie Maia's mobile suits? And they'd done enough, all five of them. It was our turn. 

     “Howard, tell me about Peacemillion. You said it was designed for space exploration. Was there ever a real plan to explore more of Outer Space? I know there was a Department of Space Exploration and Colonization, but...” 

     “That's ancient history.” 

     “History repeats itself. Why else would you build Peacemillion?” 

     “True enough.” 

     I looked over at Howard. He was looking up at the stars. 

     He said, “The SEC was formed in UC 0050, after emigration from the Earth to the Space Colonies halted. The Earth was heavily polluted and overpopulated and the Colonies were meant as kind of a quick fix. ‘Cept they worked a little too well and began developing the means to break away from the Earth completely. I'm talking about resource satellites and solar paneling and the Jupiter Energy Fleet that was able to extract helium isotopes from the atmospheres of the outer planets. You know all about the rise of the Duchy of Zeon and all that, right?” 

     I nodded, scratching Loki. 

     “Good. Well, you know it was always kind of a plan to develop another completely autonomous world that was self-regenerating the way the Earth was. Mars was an option, but it had to be terraformed and a lot of folks didn't like that it was so close to Earth and the Colonies. So they made the SEC to start exploring deep space. ‘Cept it never really took off because Earth went to war with the Colonies.” 

     Loki climbed into my lap and butted his head against my chin. I pushed him away gently but he came back, purring loudly. “I know all that,” I said. “But I mean why did you and Doctor G build Peacemillion before the end of the war? You couldn't have known how things would turn out. Could you?” 

     He sipped his coffee and shrugged. “No, we couldn't. Well, we hoped. There were some idealists on Earth and the Colonies that I guess always dreamed of resurrecting the SEC. Yuy, Peacecraft, Noventa, Darlian, and toward the end, Catalonia.” 

     “They were all assassinated,” I said glumly, surprised to hear General Catalonia listed. He'd been the leader of OZ, but stepped down--and was shot near his home in Spain--the year before I joined the service. He'd been a brilliant commander in his heyday, but they say he went soft toward the end. I'd seen his daughter once--when I was infiltrating Libra--and recognized her by her weird eyebrows. She seemed like quite the little warmonger. “They were rich, too,” I said after a little more reflection. “Well, not Heero Yuy, but he knew rich people...like the Winners.” I raised my eyebrows questioningly. 

     “Yeah, we got a bit of off-the-books funding. Obviously we lost support with each assassination. When Darlian died...and then Noventa pretty much right after him, and then Winner...” He shook his head. “It was too sad. We'd all had this dream, see, of a team of Colonists and Terrans building a new autonomous world that relied on its own resources. Total idealism.” 

     “And Duo was going to lead it?” 

     “G and I wanted him to be a part of it, yeah.” 

     “But the project was mothballed, Duo got Deathscythe, Milliardo Peacecraft got Peacemillion, which he left for Libra, and then Sally and Noin wound up with it.” 

     “You got it.” 

     “Damn.” 

     “That's the way it had to be. You gotta adapt your ideas or else you get nothing. Go with the flow of things.” 

     “No, I mean someone's coming.” 

     We both jumped to our feet. Loki whined as I spilled him onto the cold ground. I pointed with my flashlight. I'd been right; there was a flicker of movement just outside the pool of light from the house and garage. 

     “Come on, we see you,” I called, hating the way my voice cracked. I was scared. Maybe this wasn't such a hot idea after all. Duo told me once that I had just the kind of intensity and bravado that gets people killed. I'd almost proved him right twice. Would the third time be the charm? 

     Sometimes things seem to happen in slow-motion. Like when you're being shot at in a mobile suit battle. You can see the energy beam coming at you and you know you're about to die. It feels so SLOW, you have time to THINK about it, but at the same time you know you don't have time to dodge. 

     They seemed to move so SLOWLY. It felt like a full five minutes before they had come close enough for me to really see, but I knew it was only a few seconds and there was nothing for me to do except stand there helplessly until the moment passed. 

     They were young guys, maybe in their twenties. I didn't recognize either of them. 

     “You're Hilde Schbeiker, right?” one of them said. 

     “Yeah.” 

     “What are you doing?” We could have been back in training and they could have been asking me what I was doing Friday night. 

     “Well, what does it look like?” I replied. Realizing the answer probably was not at all obvious I added, “We're having a peace rally.” 

     “Just the two of you?” 

     I almost said, idiotically, “Three,” meaning Loki, but I saved myself in time and admitted, kind of lamely, “I didn't know anyone.” 

     There was a pause. Then the one who had first spoken pointed at his chest. “Lance Turniev. And Keith Hawkins. Now you know two more people.” 

     “You joining us or what?” Howard challenged. 

     “Don't know yet,” said Hawkins. “We were soldiers, too. Alliance first, based on the Colonies, then White Fang. We were wondering what you were doing, especially since you knew the Gundam pilots. If you were going to fight...” 

     “Has the Council decided anything?” 

     “Not yet,” said Turniev. “They're dragging their feet, waiting for Earth to do something. No word so far. That kid hasn't made another statement, but you'd think someone from Earth would have said something by now, like the Vice Foreign Minister or President Brussels. But it's been quiet. It's really spooky. Did you know Treize had a kid? Whose is she, Une's?” 

     “Iron Panties Une? How should I know? Look,” I said, deciding to lay all the cards I had on the table, “Relena Darlian's missing. Council thinks she's been captured by Marie Maia. Either that or there's been an accident no one knows about, because she'd have said something by now. I haven't heard anything from Duo. Derecha wants me to hand over the scraps I have in the garage, and I told him no. I agree that it's human nature to fight, but there are other ways of fighting. I won't lift a weapon until someone threatens my life. Dammit, I'm tired of this. So are the Gundam pilots. They were trained as soldiers and so was I. So were you. Marie Maia seems to think we're not capable of being anything else and she's appealing to our sense of purpose. But enough is enough. I want to prove her wrong.” 

     “We can't just do nothing, though,” Turniev said uncertainly. 

     “We're not. I mean, I'm not. I'm not going to just hide under my bed and let her take over in Treize Khushrenada's name. I'm going to let her know I don't want her. But she won't get me to fight another war just by telling me it's in my nature.” 

     “Call it passive resistance,” Howard put in. 

     “So what do you guys think?” I demanded. 

     “What do we think? This is what we think.” They started forward. 

     Howard and I took an involuntary step back, but there was nothing threatening about the way they approached us. Hawkins, I noticed for the first time, walked with a very slight limp. 

     They stopped a few feet from us. “Look at this,” said Hawkins and yanked up one pant leg. His leg had a plastic sheen--it was clearly artificial. “I'd kind of like to enjoy the rest of my limbs.” 

     “Right,” said Turniev, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I mean, yeah, we were trained to fight, but we had a purpose. We wanted order and stability. And peace. Last year I kind of thought we'd achieved that. I think enough people have died. We're not the only ones who think that way, either. We need to show that little brat, and you're right. Come on. How hard can it be to scare a kid?” 

     “I doubt she's alone,” said Howard. “She's someone's puppet.” 

     Turniev's hazel eyes flashed. “We're not, though. Children _or_ puppets.” He turned to me. “Can I use your phone? I know some guys who'll agree.” 

     Howard grinned at me. “Coffee, anyone?” he said.   
  
  
It turned into a real rally. Between them, Turniev and Hawkins knew about twenty ex-soldiers. “Some guys” indeed. And they all knew people, one of whom was in broadcasting, and it wasn't long before we had reporters and a television crew. It was unbelievable. Howard was brewing coffee for fifty by the time Councilman Billy Archer roared up on his motorcycle. 

     “Just how big a party is this, Schbeiker?” he bellowed. “I'm supposed to let you know, from Derecha, that you need a permit for this kind of gathering.” He grinned down at me, his teeth very white against his dark face. “That duty discharged, what can I do?” 

     He made a brief statement, which we broadcast, which probably had the Council hopping since, Archer told me later, they _still_ hadn't come to a decision on what to do about Marie Maia. 

     “It's about time they did, isn't it?” Turniev barked, his words punctuated by the white puffs of his breath. “I mean, what are they waiting for, someone else to make the decision?” 

     I turned to Archer. “Is the Council still in session?” 

     He nodded. 

     “So we march!” said Turniev. “Let's get this mob scene _organized_.”   
  
  


     We marched. It was three and a half miles to the city center, and freezing, but we were excited about what we were doing, and energetic, and it kept us warm. Some people had stayed behind to finish making banners and round up supplies. They joined us in their cars about an hour later. It was after eleven by the time we made it to the city center. We were loud. We wanted to motivate the people who weren't doing anything yet, and of course we wanted to show the Council that we were serious. I don't know how many people joined us once we were in the center itself. Different news crews have given different estimates, but I couldn't really see so I don't know which estimate is the most accurate. I'm short. It was all I could do not to get trampled. 

     My cousins--all of whom are a lot older than I am--used to tell me they remembered watching the rallies that took place after Heero Yuy's assassination. The way they described them it was no surprise a lot of people from the Earth thought the Colonists couldn't govern themselves. But then, most of my cousins wound up fighting on the Earth's side--as I did for a while. Anyway, what they described wasn't anything like what took place outside City Hall the night of December twenty-sixth, AC 196. Maybe it was because our cause was different. We didn't want autonomy. We just wanted there to be no more fighting. Maybe it was because we'd already reached another period in history. By the time Heero Yuy was assassinated, conflict had been brewing on the Earth--and subsequently the Colonies--for almost two hundred years. All the frustration and resentment reached its climax last year. Now we were just _tired_. Maybe that's not completely right. If we were just tired I don't know that we'd be doing anything. Maybe it would be more accurate to say we'd finally received our wakeup call. We'd finally woken up. I'm not an historian or a political analyst. I don't know. 

     At any rate, I'm proud of what we did. We marched straight up to the doors of City Hall and demanded a resolution from our leaders. And we made it pretty clear what kind of resolution we wanted. We did it by shouting. (Hawkins is surprisingly eloquent. I mean, a quarter of the things he said were clichés, but he said them really well and we didn't care.) We did it by singing. (Howard knows a surprising number of protest songs. I tried to play along on my sax, but I'm really not that good yet.) We did it by just _being_ there. (There were a surprising number of veterans. Parents came with their children. There were old people, young people. It was amazing.) 

     At midnight Councilwoman Johnston appeared to tell us we were rushing to conclusions and not to be so hasty. President Brussels and Colonel Une were attempting to communicate with Marie Maia, so far with no success. The situation was very delicate, she insisted, confirming our fear about Relena Darlian's whereabouts. We had to wait and see what happened next. She told us to go back to our homes. It was cold out. There was nothing we could do. 

     We didn't go home. 

     A few people who had apartments on the streets opposite City Hall kept their televisions on and their windows open and shouted the updates down to us. At one-thirty we heard the news that Marie Maia and her followers were on the move; they were heading for Earth, and with Relena Darlian as their hostage no one was going to stop them. There'd been a brief skirmish on L3-X18999, but no mention of who exactly had been involved. There had been hostages, but they'd been released. My heart began to beat very quickly at that news. I remembered the undercover organization Councilwoman Sheridan had mentioned, but I didn't know anything about them. I thought, _The Gundam pilots must be involved!_ Who else could have gotten in there and succeeded? I wasn't sure what to feel. On the one hand I felt better, believing they were doing something. On the other hand I was angered that we still depended on them to fight our battles. 

     It got colder. The older people and the children and anyone who was sick were instructed to go back inside. Most of them did, but some didn't, and just about everyone else remained. Blankets appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. There weren't nearly enough for everyone, so people huddled together. I found myself wedged between Lance and Billy. 

     It got quiet. We all knew we had to stay active and stay awake, but we were tired. 

     The minutes went by very slowly. More than once I had to pinch myself to keep from falling asleep. My feet were frozen; they felt more like hooves than feet, as though I had no toes at all. 

     I don't know what time it was when people began to murmur that fighting had broken out on the Earth. A mobile suit battle... Marie Maia was laying siege to the Brussels Presidential Residence. No, Marie Maia and her followers were inside the Residence, and two unknown mobile suit pilots (not the Gundam pilots) were leading the siege. No one was certain. 

      _Where are the people on the Earth?_ I thought, biting my fingers to bring back feeling. _Where are they? Are we alone?_

     I'm sorry I can't describe what happened on L2-X34 with greater detail. I kept drifting in and out of a kind of half-sleep. I heard snatches of conversation, pockets of song. I remember my head falling back and looking up at the stars with a kind of mad understanding. (Looking back now, I'm not sure what it was I understood so perfectly. War, peace, the universe, love? All I can think now as I try to record this for you is, “My God, I was freezing to death.”) 

     Then I really was falling. “Oh my God,” Billy muttered as he caught me, “I'm such an idiot. Where the fuck is my motorcycle?” 

     The motorcycle was found and I was handed to Lance. 

     “Where are you going?” I mumbled. 

     “The weather generators,” he growled as he revved the engine. “Son of a bitch!” 

     I wriggled out of Lance's arms. “I'm coming with you!” 

     “You're not,” he snapped, shoving me away. “For once in your life, Schbeiker, obey orders! Get her inside, Turniev.” 

     But I got on behind him and wouldn't let go. I must have been truly mad. _He_ was furious. He called me a few things I'm not going to repeat here. But in the end he had no choice but to let me come. 

     It was so cold! His body shielded me from the worst of the wind, but I don't think I've ever been so cold in all my life. Still, the ride woke me up. 

     “The generators!” I yelled over the engine's roar and the screaming wind. “Derecha--or someone--ordered someone to lower the temperatures.” 

     “What else? They think they're going to get us out of their hair that way.” 

     “That's, that's--” I couldn't even put my outrage into words. 

     We didn't say anything else until we reached the generators, which are about fifteen minutes outside the city center. 

     “I'm going to use your hard head to knock down the door if it's locked,” Billy informed me as we parked. 

     I practically fell off the motorcycle. “I won't vote for you if you do,” I muttered as I hobbled after him. 

     Two security guards stopped us at the door. “Councilman Archer,” one said in surprise. 

     “Let us in,” said Billy with authority. (He cut a really striking figure just then, I have to say. More like a Sioux warrior than a bureaucrat.) 

     One of the security guards said, sounding somewhat reluctant, “We have our orders, Councilman, five seals attached.” 

     “People are _freezing_ to death!” I snapped. 

     The men ignored me. “People are freezing to death,” said Billy. 

     “If they go inside, they won't freeze.” 

     “They're not going inside. Whoever gave you that order forgot that the L2 Charter, ratified in AC 131, gives citizens of the L2 Colony Cluster the right to rally peacefully in a public space. Whoever gave you that order doesn't want to draw attention to L2-X34 in the event of another war. We're trying to _prevent_ another war. Whoever gave that order--” 

     -- _Oh, say it Billy, say it,_ I wanted to shout-- 

     “--is going to be in serious trouble come election time if not sooner.” 

     God, he's cool. Well, they let us in and we went straight to the poor lone tech on-shift and ordered him to raise the temperature. He did, with little need for encouragement. I bet he was hoping someone would rescind his order. 

     After that we waited a few minutes to catch our breaths and warm our utterly numb extremities. Then we were back out in the cold, speeding back to the city center, where the protestors were still gathered. 

     So that's where we were when people in their apartments began to shout down to the people in the street that three Gundams had joined the siege on the Presidential Residence: Deathscythe, Heavyarms, Sandrock. Duo, Trowa, Quatre, I thought. But where were the others? 

     It wasn't long before we knew the answer. The emerald Gundam--Shenlong or Nataku or whatever it's called--showed up, but it didn't join the siege. There were people all around it, we heard--lots of people. Hundreds, it looked like, or maybe more. They were unarmed, but they were protesting, too. 

      _No more fighting_. The cry was taken up by the crowd on L2-X34 and grew louder. _End this!_

     Then broadcasts started coming in from the other colonies. 

     Rallies on the colonies of the L-4 Cluster. On L-1. L-5. L-3. 

      _No more fighting._

      _We're doing it, Duo,_ I thought. _Can you hear it where you are? We're finally picking up the slack. You won't have to fight any more. Then you can come home and lead a normal life, finally._

     Day was breaking, the sky lightening when Wing Zero arrived to end the siege. It blew the roof right off the Presidential Residence. And that was it. The end of the fighting. It took us a while to realize it was over. But once we did the singing and the shouting resumed, full force, only now there were cheers, too. And relieved, weary laughter. And hugs. Billy picked me up and swung me around, then practically tossed me to Lance, who did the same. I felt like a beanbag. All I cared was that someone would catch me, because by then I was far too tired to manage my own landing. 

     Sometimes I'm rather proud of the human race.   
  
  
That was two weeks ago. It's taken me this long to get it all down because I've been busy. Billy's been dragging me to council meetings, and I've been interviewed by the press. Really, I don't feel I did all that much, but...they seem to think I did. Derecha thought I was _so_ influential (imagine, since you're reading this and can't hear me, that my words are dripping with sarcasm) that he wanted to send me to L3-X189999 with L2-X34's other representatives. I told him, no. I gave him a bunch of excuses, but really, I just wanted to be here in case Duo came back. 

     Derecha and a few other Councilors are in trouble. Billy accused them of severely abusing their power and of endangering the lives of the people who were only exercising their Charter-given rights. Derecha responded that every person who rallied that night had a home and, it was hoped, the commonsense to get inside when the temperature dropped. Well, those weren't his words exactly, but it's the gist of what he said. He knows he's out. Billy's already working on his campaign for Derecha's seat. 

     Duo's not back yet. Don't imagine me pining away in my lonely little room. I've been out of the house. Actually, I made some friends at the rally. Lance and Keith are good guys. Lance, especially, makes me laugh. I like hanging out with guys. I was pretty much raised by my big brothers, so I've always been a tomboy. Anyway, I was busy. 

     I'm not sure what's happening on the Earth, now. I mean, I know basically what's happening: representatives from all over the Earth and the colonies have flocked to what's left of the Brussels Presidential Residence and Charles Noventa's leading that team of representatives on L3-X189999, trying to stabilize that colony. Relena Darlian, President Brussels, and Lady Une have been giving speeches and there's been a lot of footage of soldiers throwing down their arms. Oh, and the Gundams are gone. There wasn't any footage of that, and the pilots weren't interviewed. Relena made a statement--and that was it. 

     I wonder what he's doing now. I wonder what time it is on the Earth right now, if he's even there. 

     Two weeks since the fighting stopped, and still no word. Howard says Duo likes having a home base and it's not like him to stay away so long. He told me about the job he'd come to offer Duo. I hope he gets back soon, or at least sends word. I'm starting to worry.   
  
  
Oh, there was news on Marie Maia Khushrenada, finally. She was injured in the assault on the Presidential Residence, but she was released from the hospital a few days ago, in Lady Une's custody. I wonder if she'll wind up raising her. What kind of mother would Une be? She's not that much older than the kid herself. And who IS Marie Maia's mother? There's been speculation (Dekim Barton had a daughter, who died in 190) but anyone who knows for certain isn't telling. I guess I'm glad the kid's okay. She actually made a public apology for her actions. Dekim Barton was the one holding her strings. He died in the assault. I'm glad.   
  
  
It's getting warmer. There are crocuses along the reservoir. I wish I hadn't fallen asleep after we made love that one time months ago. 

     Made love. Was it really love for him? (And now that I have time to think rationally--what can either of us possibly know about love? We're only sixteen.) He'd been upset about Deathscythe--about a lot of things, I guess. He'd needed someone to cling to, and I'd been there. I mean, I'd more or less thrown myself at him. I hadn't told him how I felt. I'd just been the warm body he'd needed to crash against. And I'd been his first. My first time had been all right, but now I sort of wish it had been him. Then maybe we'd have been on equal footing. He'd been nervous. He'd been worried about what would happen after. But when I'd asked him if he wanted to stop, he'd said no. 

     For the first time I'm starting to wonder what will happen if he _does_ come back. Will we tiptoe around each other, avoid each other's eyes over breakfast, scoot to opposite ends of the sofa? Does he think I just _let_ him use me? 

     No, that's not like Duo. 

     Anyway, I wish I'd stayed awake and taken the time to memorize him while he slept. I'd like to remember how he felt in my arms, how he smelled, how his breath tasted. 

     I hope he's all right. 

     God, I'm lonely.   
  
  
Started putting some of his things in boxes. I'm not getting rid of it. I've just been fidgety and I find that cleaning helps calm me down. He has so many comic books. Every time I thought I'd gotten them all out of the way I'd find another stash. He also has a few pulpy detective novellas and biographies of Amuro Ray, Shiro Amada, and other important figures from the early Universal Century period. Funny, I'd never thought of him as a reader, but I guess I can think of a few times when I came into his room to find him sprawled on his futon, engrossed in a book, dirty dishes piled at his side. Flipping through a few of them, I discovered he'd written notes in some of the margins in his loopy, barely legible handwriting. Some of them were pretty amusing: “Mr. Butler? There's a guy in this book called Mr. BUTLER? He fucking did it, man. I bet myself a box of donuts he did it.” Or: “Lay, not laid, dork-face.” Or sometimes he'd circle a passage and scrawl next to it, “for H.” (He must have forgotten to show them to me. Or maybe I'm not the “H” he meant?) 

     I found his priest's shirt stuffed between the futons and a bookcase made out of plastic milk crates we'd stolen. I remembered the second time we met, after he escaped from the Lunar Base. I was in an amazing amount of trouble at the time, having defected from OZ in order to save his ass. I was a wanted woman. So I was hiding out in a bar on MO-VI. By some crazy coincidence, he decided to do the same. I remember looking up from my wine cooler and seeing the strobe light flash against his white collar. “Hey,” I'd drawled, grinning, “you look like a man with a mission.” It took him a few moments to get the pun, but he recognized me right away. 

     “ ‘She wore a raspberry beret,'” he crooned softly as he hoisted his rear onto the barstool beside mine. “ ‘The kind you find in a secondhand store. Raspberry beret...”' Then he fixed me with that lopsided smile of his. “So, you‘re still alive, Schbeiker.” 

     I looked at him warily, noting his pallor, the bruise on his cheek, the scabs on his hands, the tears in his shirt. “Wish I could say the same for you, Maxwell.” 

     And before you knew it we were laughing like a pair of fools. 

     That must have been when I fell in love with him. I'd thought he was very cool and smart and dangerous the first time we met. But that second time--that's when I realized he was fun, too. And just plain...good. He's a good person. If there's one thing about him I'm sure of it's that. He really does fight so other people won't have to, because he doesn't belong to anyone, thinks there's no one who'll grieve should anything happen to him. He doesn't lie to anyone because he hates being lied to. He'd help anyone...   
  
  
“You should get a place in the city center,” Billy Archer said when we had coffee together yesterday afternoon. “You're too far out. You could get a job here, too. What are you interested in doing? Or do you really like that garage job?” 

     I don't. Not really. It had been all right during the war because Duo and I had worked with mobile suits, and that had been interesting. But I'm not interested in that any more. 

     Billy offered me a job working for him. “You're young,” he said. “You represent a generation that's known warfare but with luck will enjoy a peaceful lifetime.” 

     “Would I have to wear a skirt?” I asked, while I played with the cinnamon stick in my mocha. 

     “You could get a pants suit. But yeah, you'd have to wear office attire most of the time.” 

     “Ugh.” 

     “Think about it, Hilde. You're young and really bright. You could make some great connections...” 

     He's right, of course. I do need to branch out. When I first joined the army I'd been such an idealist. I didn't have any plans for if the war actually ended. I'd just wanted to fight. Now I wonder. What the hell am I going to do with the rest of my life?   
  
  
Last night I dreamed that Duo came back. I was sleeping in the dream, but somehow I knew that it was morning. There was sunlight all around, pouring through the window onto my face. I felt the bed dip and I knew it wasn't Loki. The air above my face moved, as though stirred by someone's breath. I knew who it was, and I wanted to reach out and pull him down to me. There wouldn't be any words. I just wanted to hold him. 

     He leaned down and--whump--his stupid braid bashed me in the nose. 

     That should have clued me in. He's always perfect in my dreams. 

     He tells me I mumbled, “Hey, Duo,” with my eyes closed, natural as anything, but to be honest I don't remember. By the time it dawned on me that I might be awake and opened my eyes I was already in his arms. God knows what I said then! My own stupid hair kept flopping into my eyes, and the sunlight was so strong all I could see was the curve of his cheek, the indigo stain of his eyes, and his lashes, which gleamed like copper. 

     He kissed me softly, awkwardly, on the lips, and I threw my arms around him, hugging him hard, breathing him in. I didn't bother to question, I didn't even think about questioning his action. He said something--I think it was, “Dumb Hilde, this is where I live”--and then he was hugging me back, so hard I squeaked in pain. 

     “Oh my god, Hil,” he said somewhat breathlessly as he pulled away a moment later. “Oh, my god. You look--” He touched my cheek. “...So beautiful. So amazingly beautiful!” 

     I could only stare at him, taking in the flushed cheeks, the messy hair, the circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted. And there were tears in his eyes. I'd never seen him cry before. 

     I got up and pushed him back against the pillows. He seemed so light, so pliant, that for half a second I was afraid that I was really dreaming after all. But you know, if I _were_ dreaming about Duo in my bed, I sure as hell wouldn't dream him too tired to move on his own! 

     “Whatcha doin', Schbeiker?” he mumbled while I pulled the blankets up around him. His shoes were already off. He must have ditched them when he came in. 

     “You're tired.” 

     “I just got in half an hour ago. I've been up all night.” He frowned at me. “Those are my boxers.” 

     I glanced down, my cheeks lighting up. “I did our laundry together,” I mumbled. “I guess they got mixed up...” 

     “You look cute.” He smiled and closed his eyes. 

     I just stared at him, afraid to blink in case I shattered the dream. Even then I couldn't quite believe I was really awake, he was really back, and in my bed. I sat down next to him. I didn't touch him. I was afraid to do anything. What if I did something wrong? Where were we? 

     His eyes flew open suddenly. “It's totally six in the morning and I woke you up. Should I go...?” 

     “No.” I pushed him back, stopped him getting up. I felt his heart racing beneath my palm. “It's okay. You're tired. You can sleep here. It's okay.” 

     He relaxed, but he didn't close his eyes again until I was in bed beside him. We didn't sleep entwined like lovers. It's a single bed, but somehow we managed not to become too entangled. I rested my head against his shoulder, he tilted his head against mine: friends who had fallen asleep together accidentally. I held tightly to a fold of his sweatshirt, to try to convince myself that he was really there. It still didn't seem real.   
  


     But when I woke up again a few hours later, he was still there, looking down at me with an expression I'd never seen before. 

     “What?” I whispered, a little afraid. 

     He touched my hair. “I missed you.” Then, his expression not changing, “Deathscythe is gone. I blew it up.” 

     “I heard.” I swallowed. “Do you want to talk about it, Duo?” 

     He shook his head. “I feel like I've talked about it enough times with Quatre. It's weird, though. I'm not sorry it's gone. I know I used to talk about it like it was my pal or something, but really, it was a weapon. And I don't want to deal with weapons any more. I'm sick of them. It's just...” He propped himself up on his elbow, flicked his braid over his shoulder, and his eyes lit up, like he was suddenly inspired. “It's like if I cut my hair. I guess it wouldn't be BAD if the mop was gone, but I've had it so long it's like it's a part of me. It would be weird. That's a dumb analogy.” 

     “No, it isn't.” I wanted to touch him, but I wasn't sure if I should. He wasn't touching my hair anymore, but his hand rested near mine on the blanket. I said, “It's not dumb. Your hair is a part of your image, and your image is part of who you are.” 

     “You make me sound so superficial.” 

     “I don't mean to. You're so NOT. I mean, you kept it long for a reason, right?” 

     “Yeah.” He smiled wryly. “It was good to hide stuff in when I was a pickpocket urchin. Pins, razors, that kind of thing. It was kind of a mask, too. Then Sister Helen braided it, and I thought it was pretty cool. I thought I looked like some kind of Chinese warrior-monk, you know? Actually, I don't know if that's how they did their hair.” 

     “It's a part of you. Not an essential part like a limb or an organ, but still a part. So was Deathscythe.” 

     “I don't really want to talk about it.” He lowered his lashes, shadowing his eyes. 

     “We don't have to.” At that point his stomach growled loudly. “Want breakfast?” 

     “You don't need to get up...” 

     “Hey, I don't mind.” I slid off the bed, shoving my feet into my slippers--the floor was cold. “I got a normal amount of sleep last night. You didn't. We have bagels, cream cheese, orange juice, I think maybe some strawberries.” I grabbed my robe from the chair. 

     As I was leaving he called, “Um, Hil...are my jeans anywhere?” 

     I was back ten minutes later, carrying the jeans and a breakfast tray. His leather pants already lay in a heap on the floor by the bed. He was stretching his legs under the blankets and sighing with exaggerated pleasure. I tossed him the jeans, then turned my back and unloaded the breakfast tray onto the night table while he changed. 

     “You never asked me where I was,” he said while I smeared cream cheese onto a toasted sesame bagel. 

     “No, I didn't. I was going to, but I figured...” I shrugged, tried to sound nonchalant. “Where were you?” 

     “With Heero.” 

     “That's what I figured,” I said somewhat disingenuously. 

     “He was pretty messed up about... Well, about everything, I guess.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, in a voice I'd never heard him use before, “I think I messed him up even more.” I turned to him, suddenly anxious. He was looking up at me, his brows drawn together over his wide eyes. He looked pale--faded, almost. As worn and battered as his jeans. “What do you mean?” I whispered. 

     “He could have stayed with Relena. He cared for her. I mean, I don't know if he loves her or anything. She loves _him_. But he really trusts her. Likes her. But I made him leave.” He picked at the blanket. 

     I remembered the knife and bagel still in my hands, put them down hurriedly, and climbed back into bed beside him. I didn't put my arms around him. I was afraid to. “How?” I pressed. 

     “I found out his name and I told it to him. His real name. So he had to go away and find out who he was. See if there are any more Taros alive in the universe. Oh, wait, he's Japanese, so it's last name first, right? Akatsuki Taro. His family name is Akatsuki. He's Taro like the tuber. That's so weird.” 

     “Why? You're not...?” I couldn't even say the word. 

     “Jealous?” He looked up and flashed me a limp smile. “Of Heero? No way. I know my real name.” 

     I was struck. Of course he wasn't born with the name Duo Maxwell. I'd known that for a long time. I knew about Solo, the friend who'd died, and Father Maxwell, who'd been a father to him for such a brief time. But I'd never even tried to imagine him with any name but Duo. I couldn't. “What is your real name?” I barely managed to ask. 

     He told me. (Should I write it here? Maybe I will later, if I revise this. I'll get the right spelling from him, if he even knows how to spell the last name.) 

     “It's a nice name,” I said, honestly. “Sounds Irish.” 

     “Do you think?” There was a note of genuine curiosity in his voice, though he still sounded very weary. 

     “I think so. Or Scottish. I don't know the difference. We could look it up.” 

     The idea seemed to please him. His smile brightened for a moment, then faded again. “I shouldn't have told Heero.” 

     “Why not? If I didn't know my name and if someone found it out I'd want him to tell me.” 

     He looked away. “I know. I couldn't have kept it from him. It was actually my last assignment, from the mad scientists.” He sighed, and the sigh became a shudder that rippled through his whole body. Still, I couldn't touch him. He seemed very far away, although we were so close I could smell the dried sweat on him. He'd run here from the station, and he hadn't showered, yet. But underneath the sweat and the dirt was the spicy masculine scent I could almost get high on. I breathed it in, concentrated on its familiarity, while I waited for him to go on. Eventually, he did. 

     “The thing is, he's still out there wandering, and I hate that. It's not _fair_.” He was angry. “It's so not fair. I mean, he's worked harder for this peace than any of us. And he still doesn't have anywhere to go. He could have stayed with Relena, but now he can't. Even if he finds his family, what'll he do? Can you see Heero going up to some stranger and being all, ‘Hey, I'm your long-lost nephew. Now that I'm done killing people and saving the universe, mind if I stay with you?' Yeah, right. Trowa doesn't know his real name. He'll probably never find it. But _he_ has a home to go back to. He has his sister. And he has Quatre, I think. And Quatre has his family and his Maguanacs. Wufei joined the Preventers, so he has that, _and_ he's all into that Catalonia creature, which I don't get at all.” He sighed again. “And I have you,” he mumbled. 

     The wrist that had been propping up my head gave out. I jerked up, spluttering, “What--I--huh?” 

     “If that's what _you_ want,” he went on as though I hadn't said anything stupid. “I mean...” He looked up, and to my amazement, he blushed. “I feel like such an ass for just leaving you like that,” he confessed. His cheeks went even redder. He bit his lip. “That was such a jerky thing to do. I should have had you come with me. I really wanted to. But I had this awful feeling something bad was going to happen. And I needed to know you were safe. That was what kept me going during the whole uprising. I was _so_ pissed that some people _still_ didn't get it. War is just plain wrong. But the person I needed to protect was safe.” He frowned. “Sort of.” 

     “Hey,” I chided nervously, “you said not to get involved if fighting breaks out. I had nothing to do with the fighting.” 

     He relaxed. “I know. You guys, and the guys Wufei and Catalonia rallied--you guys really saved the day. I didn't find out about what you did until way after, but...you gave me a lot of hope. You all did. But what I'm _saying_ ,” he went on, sounding as though he were struggling with the words, “what I'm saying is... Oh, hell. In that last battle, when Quatre and Trowa and I were going to self-destruct in our Gundams I thought, okay, they'll be gone and we'll be gone and maybe we'll end this thing finally. I always figured I was only alive by chance and my luck had to change _some_ time. But I was pissed because... I never told you _anything_.” 

     I couldn't respond. He didn't give me time. He just took my face in his hand and said, raggedly, “You mean _everything_ to me. More than Deathscythe, more than the guys... You're my home, Hilde. I'm so grateful for everything you've given me. I'm not even talking about gratitude. All I could think during the fighting on Earth was, ‘But Hilde's safe. It's okay because Hilde's safe.' I was never able to really protect anyone I cared about, before. I lost my folks, I lost Father Maxwell and Sister Helen. I couldn't keep the other guys--my friends--from fighting. But I could keep you safe, even though you might hate me for what I did. I need to be honest with you, Hil; I don't know if what I feel-- I don't know if it's love or not.” He mumbled the word and I realized I'd never heard him say it before. He went on quickly, “That's just because I have nothing to compare it to. There's a lot of people I LIKE. And I've been attracted to people before. But you're different.” He dropped his head. “I'm messing this up. I _want_ to be with you, however you'll take me. If you're not pissed at me--and I get the impression you're not--I want to take you out later. On a real date. I want to get you flowers and dopey stuffed animals. I want to sleep with you. If that's okay. I know that I love your smile...and that weird puzzled look I know you're making. I love just _talking_ to you. I never talk like this to anyone. I mean, you mean more to me than anyone I've ever...” 

     He was floundering, but I finally snapped out of my trance. No, they weren't the words I'd fantasized about. 

     They were his. They were real. So, they were better. 

     I didn't think. When he trailed off I just pushed his bangs away from his eyes, tilted his face back, and kissed him, sweat, morning breath and all. I kissed him the way I'd always wanted to kiss him. Slowly. Deeply. Taking the time to memorize the shape of his lips, the weight of him as he pressed down on me. I'm not an expert, but it was a _good_ kiss. 

     Our clothes were on the floor--he'd enjoyed the black lace panties--and he was fumbling with the plastic on one of my lucky condoms-- 

     (“Lucky if I can get the damn thing _out_ ,” he grunted. 

     “Lucky because they're for if I ever get lucky,” I explained, laughing.) \--when Loki jumped onto the bed and gave a proprietary meowl. 

     Duo looked up. I watched dark blue eyes meet grass green in a look of intense scrutiny and faint disapproval. 

     “You got a cat,” Duo said mildly. 

     “He got me,” I explained, feeling a little weird, although I guess that was the first time I'd ever had two males compete for me. “He's a nice cat,” I babbled. “Really. He's cuddly.” 

     Duo raised his eyebrows. “I'm more cuddly.” 

     “Are you?” 

     He grinned and shoved Loki off the bed. I heard a _fwump_ and an offended mrrowl. “Let's find out,” said Duo, as he brushed the little gold crucifix away from my throat and bent to kiss me there. 

     He is, he is.   
  
  
Afterward-- quite a bit afterward, actually, when our bodies were drying in the cool air--I yawned, “Howard's in town. He wants you to go to Mars to work on the terraforming project.” 

     He'd been stroking my thigh idly. He stopped, though his hand lingered on my body. “Go to Mars?” he repeated, sounding far away again, and uncertain. “Like a mission?” 

     “Like a job,” I said, nuzzling his shoulder. “Like a job where you'd get paid and have benefits. Howard thinks you could be a team leader, since you have so much experience with mechanics and you're a personable fellow.” 

     “I am?” He grinned down at me. “What about you?” 

     “I'd go with you, of course. There are things I could do there, too. It's just an idea, but I kind of like it. I don't love the garage, and I don't _love_ this house. It would be interesting, anyway. There would be a team of colonists and Terrans.” 

     “It would be interesting working with Zechs Merquise and Lucrezia Noin. But I guess Howard couldn't have known that. That _would_ be interesting. I like Noin, anyway.” He was quiet for a moment, thinking about the possibilities. At length he said, slowly, “It would be nice, you know, to build something. Not a weapon but a community for people to live. That would be really nice, actually. I need to think some more. I mean, we both do, but yeah, I should go talk to Howard.” 

     I remembered what Howard had said before, about how Duo might have been a good space explorer. He still could be. So could I. Together, we could build something that the people of the future could really use. Even in this late era of human development, there were still frontiers. 

     “I got Heero those jeans,” Duo said, interrupting my thoughts. “Do you remember me telling you about that? See, I am a good friend after all.” He ruffled my hair. 

     “You're a good friend,” I murmured. “You're a good person, period.” I kissed his chest, then blew across the sparse, light-colored hairs to tickle him. After that we were both quiet as we watched the light change. The late afternoon sunlight made flaming stars out of the frost in the window and cast warm rays onto the floor and the bed. Loki slunk back into the room and joined us, though he kept his whiskers high in the air and wouldn't come close despite Duo's reconciliatory entreaties. 

     We stayed like that until long after nightfall. Decisions about the future could wait. So could regrets. We were perfectly content with the present. 

\-------------------   
  
  
Being in love really sucks sometimes, but this isn't one of them. I like to think that that's how the war finally ended for both of us. It's too soon to tell of course. But there's no reason to believe the peace won't hold for a good long while. Duo thinks it will, anyway, and so do I. I hope we go to Mars. I think it would be good for both of us. Who knows what else will happen, now that there's peace. Instead of concentrating on ways to kill each other, people can concentrate on things like space exploration and new inventions and things. And as for us, we're both pretty young. I think 

Oh, Duo says to hurry up or the water will get cold. I'll hurry. 

Seriously, though, I feel like we're on the brink of som 

THIS IS DUO. HILDE WROTE ENOUFH (?) I THINK. CAN'T SPELL. SHE CAN FIX IT LATER. NOW I WANT TO TAKE A SHOWER. WITH HER. THEN GO BACK TO BED. I THINK WE'VE EARNED IT. 

02/06/03


End file.
